Sidelined
by dreaming in black and white
Summary: In Breaking Dawn, you hear what it's like to be one of the werewolves. But what about the ones whose lives are inextricably linked with the pack, yet don't quite belong? The ones always left behind with nobody to talk to or confide in. The ones like Emily


**Sidelined**

**A/N: I was meant to be working, so of course my mind decided to come up with a new story. Here it is; Emily's thoughts one day during Breaking Dawn. The Twilight Lexicon timeline really helped with this...**

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Love to everyone I'm currently talking to: QuirkyAlice, musically_dazzled, katikittie, TheEdwardEmmet, CoyoteGurlNikki...and more hugs to those I'm not.**

**Enjoy! xxx :)**

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_Sunday, 10th September

Dear Diary –

That sounds so stupid, even to me. How can I justify writing this down, opening my heart to a page in a book? Everything which I hold so dear, all those things which are special or painful or heartbreaking, they all just seem so cold and clinical in the harsh starkness of ink against paper. I don't even know why I'm doing this, except that perhaps writing all this down will make it appear better, help me to lay it out simply and maybe – maybe – make it all feel less awful than it does echoing round and round in my head. Even now I can't quite seem to put down the words right, as if they're somehow all muddled in my head and can't be ordered.

I wonder if talking it out would be easier, if I could somehow open my mouth and all my fears could tumble out like a lanced wound, laid out in front of me to sort through. But who could I talk to?

Sam has enough to worry about, without my fears burdening him further. Besides, he doesn't need to know the full depth of my anguish for him at the moment.

The girls – Kim and Rachel and the others – probably know how I'm feeling, but the thing is _I'm _supposed to be the strong one. The one who comforts them when _they_ cry, who holds them when it all becomes too much and they come running for somebody who will understand. If I broke...if they saw me cry...if they knew that I'm not as strong as I pretend to be for their sake...

Once upon a time it would have been Leah I'd share my problems with, but that was before this all happened, before Sam and I broke her heart. Oh, she tries to hide it, but there's something in her eyes which refuses to be pushed away, something which has me aching to see. Not that she ever comes to the house if she can possibly help it, especially in the last few days – and that's one of the things which has me worried. Both she and her brother are conspicuous by their absence, but it's Jake's abrupt disappearance for the second time which is worrying Sam most.

I hate that he won't tell me what's going on.

I'm no pushover, and if I think there's something I should know I'm not above pressing the issue until I get what I want, but every time he comes home now Sam looks so weary, so low, that I can't bring myself to interrogate him. Which leaves me in the dark – once again sidelined from the most important thing in my love's life.

It's beginning again. I know it is.

Back in June when Sam promised me that it was all over and we could finally get on with our lives again, I believed him. I was so relieved that he was back with me, where he belonged, safe after those dark hours when I waited at home unable to think or breathe in fear that he might not come back. I don't want to feel like that again.

It's worse this time, I think, because I know Sam's anxious. There are more children, for one thing, and there's a tension in the pack that I've noticed even though he tries so hard to hide it from me. When I see him, his eyes are clouded and nothing I can do or say lifts that sadness.

I feel so hopeless, because there's absolutely no way I can help.

The children all look older; not just in the way they've grown so quickly, but in the shadows which darken their eyes and paint their faces with a wariness too old for their years, and I can't help but think how they've been forced into this weird parody of adulthood far too quickly. It's horrible knowing that there are thirteen year-olds out there better able to help than I can, but even worse to know that Sam has no choice but to let them. The thought that they might be hurt like Jake was the last time...

Which brings me back, yet again, to my fear of what it is they're facing. How can it be worse than the army they faced in the summer? But somehow I know that it is, because Jacob's not here and some of the pack is missing, and there's a heaviness hanging over each one of the boys when I see them. It started only days ago, but I know; there's something seriously wrong.

I think it has something to do with Bella.

Sometimes I think I hate her; for what she did to Jacob, for what she's doing to the pack now, but how can I? When she did exactly the same thing as me: broke somebody else's heart for the sake of being with the person you love with all of your heart and soul. But could I – _could I_ – knowingly put others' lives in danger for the sake of that?

I hate myself for knowing that my answer would probably be yes.

I hate knowing that secretly, I disagree with Sam's stance on the issue. If I'd had to change to be with him, I'd have seized that chance with both hands, whatever it would mean.

It makes me feel sick to think of what Bella would give up, what she would turn herself into for the sake of love, but I can't blame her.

It's more than just Bella, though. The Cullens...how can I believe that fighting them will do any good at all? I just can't believe that they would want to fight at all, with all the risks a battle entails, which places the pack as the aggressor, places Sam as the one starting an inevitably bloody war. If any of the boys were hurt, or worse, how could I look any of their families in the eye again? In June, it wasn't one of the Cullens who was hurt. It was Jake. So if they're better than the pack...

I can't wish for their deaths. I can't.

I thought that writing everything down would make it better, but it's only made it worse. If Sam ever found this...I'm going to burn it, remove all physical evidence of how I'm feeling, all incrimination of how false the smile I force onto my face every day is. Fire is meant to be cleansing, but even that can't erase all of this, because it's still _here, _in my heart. The doubts, and the fears, and that nagging sense of betrayal because I just can't believe in what Sam's doing. I can't bring myself to hope for deaths of eight people, because in the same way you drop a stone into a pond the ripples would spread out – and out – and out – to affect so many more. The doctor was the only one who could cure Jake after that last battle. Would he have done that if he meant us any harm?

I think I'm going crazy with all these thoughts, doubts. What sane person discusses her own feelings in such depth on paper? But you can hardly accuse me of sanity, when I'm in love with a werewolf and I have to expend this amount of effort to convince myself that killing vampires isn't a bad thing. If anything, the battle in the summer proved them more dangerous that I might have ever considered.

And that's it. Their danger...their ability to kill, brings me to the last, the biggest point which I've been dancing around as I write because I simply don't _want_ to even consider it. Wars inevitably have casualties. Sam – how could I possibly cope if Sam didn't come back? I'd thought he was safe when he returned before, was so grateful to have him back in my arms, to feel the heat of his body around me, to belong. Now I have to face the possibility of losing him all over again.

Sam, _my_ Sam, my earth and moon and stars. What would there be left for me without him? The very thought of losing him has my stomach clenching into a knot, has my breath catching in my throat. I can't lose him. I can't. Without Sam, there'd be nobody to hold me, nobody to love me and be loved in return; nobody to press his lips to the ugly, twisted scars on my cheek and tell me that I'm beautiful.

Always trying to be so strong, but with that underlying sweetness which he only allows me to see. I know that he's only keeping all this from me because he doesn't want me to worry, but God – the pack is such a massive part of his life, an enormous part of his life which I don't, can't, be part of.

God – God, I'm crying now. I feel like such a fool for writing all of this, because I'm probably being ridiculous. Everything I worry about will be fine. I have to keep telling myself that. It'll be fine. But it's like, having started laying out all my fears on paper, I can't stop; I have to write them down, as if setting them here will clear them from my head, order them a little so that they stop spinning round and round.

I need to stop – I _have_ to stop, because I don't know when Sam will arrive back home. He's been gone for hours; I hope he'll be back soon. I don't want him to see this book, don't want him to see me crying. When I cry, there's a dreadful pain in his eyes as if each and every tear is a personal insult, a personal betrayal that wounds him more deeply than my own sorrow hurts me. It's like my scars; they cause him agony, and I know he sees them as a reminder of the monster he thinks he is. He can't understand that I honestly don't care any more; I could never tell Sam that I take some sort of sick pride in them, in knowing that they mark me as _his_. That he comes home to me, that he loves me with every element of his body and soul – I have no doubt of that.

I really need to know that, especially now. When there's nothing I can do to help him, sometimes I can't help but wonder if he'd have been better off imprinting on Leah. He'd share his worries with her, not try to protect her through ignorance. She'd have been able to fight at his side, to prove her worth rather than waiting anxiously at home wondering if she'd ever see him again.

Being the mate of a werewolf is one of the most difficult things in the world. Watching your loved one go out to do his duty, not knowing if it's the last time you'll ever hold him, the last time he'll kiss you, and it's worse when there's a battle coming.

It's starting again, and there's nothing I can do.

Every time he kisses me, there's a terrible urgency in the feel of his lips against mine, as if he's afraid that it's the last time he'll be able to, as if he's leaving me forever.

Being left behind is always the hardest part. It makes my heart ache to even think about it.

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**A/N: Please let me know what you think!**

**Btw, I'm sorry to everyone who's been reading it that White Wolves is currently on hiatus...RL, Twilighted and general stuff decided to get in the way. I'll update when i can :)**

**Please review! xxx :)  
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